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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427471">The Odds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_enthralled/pseuds/ever_enthralled'>ever_enthralled</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hotel Sex, Post-Break Up, Reunions, Swearing, Years Later</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:33:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,478</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427471</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_enthralled/pseuds/ever_enthralled</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sitting in the hotel bar after a particularly stressful game, Iwaizumi sees a familiar face.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>207</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Odds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>uh. this may or may not be inspired by 'Closer' by The Chainsmokers. so. yeah. </p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hotel bar isn’t all that crowded. A few of the tall tables are taken up, and a handful of guests are seated at the counter, but there are still several open stools. There’s a jazz trio playing in the corner, providing classy music that so easily fades into the background. Iwaizumi barely even registers the melodies as he stares down at his drink—a <i>Casanova</i>, fucking ridiculous whiskey cocktail that Oikawa turned him on to, but it goes down easily and leaves a sweet taste in Iwaizumi’s mouth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hasn’t been here for all that long, having gotten back to the hotel about an hour ago. Iwaizumi had taken a shower to wash away the day’s game then decided to wind down further with a drink. He doesn’t have to worry about a match tomorrow, just an evening practice, so he can definitely afford to get a little <i>buzzed</i>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A figure breezes past Iwaizumi, almost hits him with a purse, but he doesn’t say anything. People are careless. So careless. It’s why they almost lost the game today. They had the lead and had gotten cocky, let their opponents catch up, and had to fight tooth and nail to keep the upper hand. It had been incredibly stressful, hence the necessity of the drink. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just a vodka cranberry, please.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Iwaizumi frowns, skin prickling under his jacket. He knows that voice, hasn’t heard it in a few years, but he could recognize it anywhere, especially when speaking that particular drink order. It’s just strange hearing it so far from home.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trying to be subtle, Iwaizumi glances to the side, letting out a small huff of disbelief when his eyes land on you. Honestly, what are the odds? You’re leaning over the bartop, smiling warmly at the young man behind it who’s reaching for a bottle of—<i>god, hopefully not the Svedka you used to down in freshman year</i>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You look almost exactly the same as you did last time Iwaizumi saw you on the old campus. Your hair is a little longer now, styled differently. There’s polish on your nails, a nice, adult shade of mauve rather than the black you so frequently sported before, and Iwaizumi also notes you’ve gained a bit of weight. It looks good. You hold it well in your hips and ass and ti— he shakes his head at himself, chuckling. <i>Old habits die hard</i>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you,” you tell the bartender warmly, then take a sip of your cocktail and do that little shoulder dance you’ve <i>always</i> done whenever you’re pleased with food and/or drink. Iwaizumi finds himself making a familiar expression of amusement, eyebrows high, mouth turned up at the corners, and that’s exactly when you turn and notice him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Your eyes grow wide, the dimmed lights of the room reflecting off of them, and Iwaizumi feels something in his chest clench. It’s been a while. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Holy shit, <i>Hajime</i>?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Years. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, giggles,” he greets, breaking into a real grin for the first time in what feels like days. It only widens when you laugh, a slight blush already dusting your cheeks. <i>Still so easy</i>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You close distance quickly, setting your glass down on the counter as Iwaizumi stands from his stool. The embrace you share is short but tight, familiar and fond and over too soon. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh my God, what—what are you doing here? I can’t believe it!” You’re laughing again, and it’s just as contagious as it was in school. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Volleyball. Duh.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You roll your eyes at him, mimic, “<i>Duh</i>,” then hop up on the seat next to his. “You’re a long way from home.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Could say the same for you.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You settle in, grab your drink again then brace an elbow on the counter, rest your chin on your palm. You’re still grinning as you sip, and Iwaizumi takes a large gulp of his own mix in an attempt to drown out the odd sort of comfort he’s getting from looking at you. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The last conversation the two of you had was not a pretty one—still a couple of kids with dreams and passions that didn’t quite line up. You both desired more of each other’s time and attention, but as two equally driven people, it just wasn’t realistic and eventually drove you far enough apart that the only answer was—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>“This isn’t working.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Yeah, no shit,” he huffs, readying himself for another round of dramatics. It’s so often these days, and honestly, Iwaizumi is tired of it. He just wants to get through the rest of the semester and qualify for nationals. That’s all he cares about. He loves you, but…</i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>“No, Hajime, I mean…” You take a deep breath and stand from the couch. “I’m <b>tired</b> of us not working.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>He blinks at you, jaw setting because that’s a little different. “So am I.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I think… I think it’d be best if maybe…”</i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>“You want to break up?”</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn’t truly hit Iwaizumi until a couple weeks later. He had been deflecting questions from friends and teammates, but it finally dawned on him after the qualifying match. For the first time since he could remember, you weren’t there to congratulate him as he walked off the court. It was really over. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Guess Tooru stopped talking about me then,” you say, bringing Iwaizumi back to the present. Fuck, that was only a few years ago, but it feels like a lifetime. Iwaizumi is a different person now than he was then. He likes to think he is, anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh, yeah, no, Oikawa hasn’t said anything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You hum lightly, tap a nail on your glass to the beat of the smooth song playing, then tell Iwaizumi, “I moved last year.” Eyebrow cocked in interest, he motions for you to elaborate. “Here. I mean, not <i>here</i> here, but here to the states.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Iwaizumi squints. "Why?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh,” you snort. “I’m a sports journalist, Haji.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I remember,” he nods. He may not have been there for your graduation, but he knows you accomplished that dream you had been reaching for throughout all of University. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Leaning forward, you lower your voice in a conspiratorial manner, smirk when you tease, “Do you have any idea how much Americans love football? And, I’m not just talking about the NFL, I mean college football too. It’s <i>wild</i>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Iwaizumi laughs, and you grin, happy with the reaction. You always did pride yourself on being able to make him crack a smile. It was easy for you, though, easier than it was for anyone else. When he met you in high school, you were goofy and clumsy and full of passion for life itself. Iwaizumi had been hopeless from the start, though it took a year for him to come to his senses and ask you out. You were his best friend, his first <i>everything</i>. It only made sense to go to the same college after graduating. Only made sense until it didn’t. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That what you’ve been covering?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You shrug your shoulders, take a drink, and Iwaizumi looks away when your tongue darts out to lick your lips. <i>Probably taste like cranberry by now</i>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Depends on the season. I cover baseball in the fall, and that’s fun. Reminds me of home.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Iwaizumi nods, understanding. Even though he’s only been gone for a week, he misses his apartment back in Japan, misses knowing how to get anywhere and everywhere, misses not being surrounded by fifteen other guys all the time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How is it other than that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Living here, you mean?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At his affirmation, you begin to tell Iwaizumi about life in the states. You travel for work (which is why you’re here at this very hotel) but have an apartment in New York, somewhere you’d always wanted to go. You spend the better part of an hour talking about how it’s busy and crowded and a little gross, that sanitation standards are questionable and pollution is a big problem, but there’s also so much to <i>do</i> and so much to <i>see</i>, and the way your face lights up when you mention your cute old neighbors and the music shop a block away from your complex, Iwaizumi thinks you’ve found just as much good in your new home as you have bad. He can see that you love it. Even when you talk about missing your parents and younger brother, even when you tell him you wish you could go back and walk the college campus one more time—you’re ecstatic about the life you’ve carved out for yourself. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And, you should be. You’ve achieved everything you’d been working toward when Iwaizumi knew you—conducting interviews and writing columns. You once promised him that he would be your first subject, a silly claim you had made after a particularly <i>exciting</i> night following an important match. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>Rolling over, you trail a hand over Iwaizumi’s bare chest, scratching over the smattering of dark hair as you lazily drawl, "When I start to make a name for myself, you’ll be the first athlete l interview." </i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Oh yeah?” He smirks, eyes still shut as he slowly comes down from his state of bliss. “Bet Shitty-kawa would get you more readers." </i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>You nuzzle into his bicep and sigh, "Don’t care. People already know Tooru is great. I want them to know you are too." </i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>Cracking his eyes open, Iwaizumi glances down at you then brushes his lips over your forehead. </i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p><i>"That’s dumb, but thanks."</i> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So, what about you?” You ask. “What has Hajime <i>‘Ace’</i> Iwaizumi been up to?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Iwaizumi chalks it up to now being on his third drink when he questions, “Is this gonna turn into that interview you promised me so long ago?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He watches as blood rushes to your face, and you glance to the counter, your drink (also number three) sweating onto the surface as the ice melts inside. Lower lip pulled between your teeth, you show a tiny smile, equal parts embarrassed and mischievous. "Remember that, do you?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yep,” Iwaizumi says evenly. “I remember a lot.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I bet you do,” you giggle. That fucking giggle, the one that earned you the pet name. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Iwaizumi isn’t drunk (yet), but he's tipsy, and warm, only getting hotter the longer you stare at him with that sly grin and ever perceptive twinkle in your eyes. He knows you well enough to know what that look means, has been on the receiving end of it many times before. A few years’ time can change people, yes, but some things… Some things stay the same. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A couple more gulps and Iwaizumi’s drink is gone along with any remaining personal boundaries. He leans forward slightly, lets his gaze trail from your face to your delicate neck to the way your top stretches over your breasts, then back up. Your eyes are narrowed in entertainment, maybe a little smugness, because you know him the way he knows you, can probably read every dirty thought running through his mind. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seemingly out of nowhere, you tell him, “It didn’t work out with that guy, by the way.” Iwaizumi knows what it is, though, not random at all but a lifeline. An opening. It momentarily snaps him out of his cloudy daze, and he tilts his head to one side in question. “The only time we ever talked after we broke up—you texted me after one of your games all pissed off.” You’re grinning, but he can see something else in your expression, a curiosity. And, maybe an apology. One that Iwaizumi didn’t deserve back then and definitely doesn’t deserve now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>A familiar, ear-piercing whistle from the stands gets Iwaizumi’s attention, and he casts a cursory glance in its direction, his heart stuttering in his chest when he sees you up above. You’re decked out in your normal game regalia, in college colors with war-paint on your cheeks as you yell the chant with everyone else. </i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>There’s something different this time, though. The seat next to you isn’t empty, and neither is your hand, your fingers intertwined with another boy’s. Iwaizumi vaguely recognizes him, someone you’ve worked on projects with for your broadcasting class. He never thought much of the kid before, came off as a little dweeby honestly, but… Now, he wonders if he should have been a little more weary. </i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Iwa—Oh, dammit!”</i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>He misses a receive, much to the shock of his teammates and everyone watching. Iwaizumi catches your eyes in the bleachers. The smile fades from your face, and you sink back in your seat. This is your fault, and you know it. </i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>After the match (they win, thank God), he surfs through his contacts until he finds your name, typing out a quick text, the first he’s sent since the break up a month ago. </i>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <b>'Don’t come to any more of my games.' </b>
  </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It didn’t work out, huh?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You shake your head. “He was cute, but you know… Rebound.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<i>Oof</i>,” Iwaizumi makes a pained face like he actually feels sorry for that loser from his past. Maybe he does. He had a couple of his own rebound relationships after you, and none of them ended very pretty. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You laugh quietly, agree with that monosyllabic sentiment. “He really didn’t know what he was getting himself into. Poor guy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And, Iwaizumi’s smirk is back just like that. What couldn’t that <i>poor guy</i> handle? Was it your brilliant brain that never shut up even in the wee hours of the morning? Was it your insane stubbornness, second to none, refusing to bend to anyone? Or was it your rampant sex drive? Did he not know how to—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, I know that look,” you hum, and when Iwaizumi locks gazes with you again, your irises are a shade darker, shadowed even further because of the thick eyelashes you’re peering through. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies, but the back of his neck is prickling with heat and his stomach is growing heavy with want and the liquor he’s imbibed isn’t enough to leave him without his senses, but it <i>is</i> enough to lower both his guard and filter. His legs spread further apart in a not-so-subconscious invitation at the same time you lean forward ever-so-slightly, lower lip sucked into your mouth as you look away bashfully. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Damn, after all this time, you’re still so fucking cute, this firecracker of passion and confidence, and all it takes is one line or a certain type of smile, and you’re all coy and blushing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What about after that?” Iwaizumi questions as he fishes into his pants pocket for his wallet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“After the broadcaster asshole. Who came after that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh,” you frown, pout in that dumb, adorable way that shows you’re confused and thinking. “Um, there’ve been a few. No one here yet. No one now, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.” There’s that assuredness. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You reach into your own purse, but Iwaizumi bats your hand away from it, not that he really has the right to. You relent, though, roll your eyes when he throws down a few too many bills between your two empty glasses, and then you stand when he does. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“On the same page then?” He grins, already knowing the answer. He really doesn’t even need to ask. At one point in time, you were near telepathic. He’s 95% sure he could have just gotten up and walked to the elevator, and you would have followed him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You scoff, slip by and boldly trail a hand over Iwaizumi’s covered abs. “When have we not been?" </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A short chuckle through his nose. A playful giggle. A hand on the small of your back as you make your way to the elevator.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then hurried steps and giddy laughter, hushed, <i>“I honestly cannot believe this,”</i> and <i>“You always did believe in fate and that astrology bullshit,”</i> and you sliding your keycard into the slot in the handle and Iwaizumi pushing you through the open door. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His jacket comes off and so does your shirt. Shoes, pants, hands grabbing familiar flesh and the first touch of your lips against his has Iwaizumi groaning into your mouth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s been so goddamn long. He wasn’t necessarily <i>heartbroken</i> after you left, but he was empty, hasn’t been damaged goods these last few years, but he <i>has</i> been emotionally unavailable. It’s not because of the failed relationship. It’s just who Iwaizumi is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But this, this with you—again—it feels good. It feels really fucking good. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He has you on your back on top of the thick duvet, crawls over your form, noses along soft skin as he moves up to your breasts and mumbles, “Still have all the same spots?” He pushes a thumb into the hollow of one hip, grins when you arch and moan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not something you just, ah, grow out of, Haji,” you tell him smartly, mouth dropping open when he flicks one of your nipples. He tickles up your side, makes you squirm and squeal beneath him, sucks your tongue into his mouth, and grinds between your spread legs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A lot of what he learned about the female body, he learned from you— erogenous zones, the balance of kissing, how to eat pussy, and how to <i>fuck</i>. Of course, things differ from partner to partner, and Iwaizumi’s had to make some adjustments in the past, but he doesn’t have to worry about that now. He’s back to what he knows like the back of his hand: you. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He bites down your neck, sucking a mark just above your collarbone as he teases your folds with ghost-like touches. It’s the easiest way to turn you from this giggling smartass and into a mess of swears and pleas. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck, fuck, please—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He barely dips inside, just enough to feel how wet you are, and then Iwaizumi is back to gently running the pads of his fingers over your lips. You rock your hips upward as if it will get him to move faster, but you really should know better by now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jesus Christ, Haji, please, I am <i>begging</i> you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For what, though?” He asks in a cocky voice, gazing down at your flushed face in satisfaction. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You growl in your throat, curse and drag your nails down his shoulders. It doesn’t hurt, but the sensation makes him shudder. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Forgot what a fucking tease you a—" You dissolve into a moan when Iwaizumi plunges a finger into your hole, the glide of your arousal making it very easy to set up a steady pace and stretch you quickly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m a what?” He speaks playfully into your ear, nipping at your lobe as you clutch onto him. He adds another finger, scissors the digits. Despite drawing things out for a bit, he’s just as ready as you are, desperate to sheathe himself in your body and get lost in you like he used to so often. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tease,” you basically sing. “You’re a <i>tease</i>, Iwa—” He taps your g-spot, delights in the way you buck at the stimulation, then does it again and again and again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You’re beautiful—writhing and groaning, your face scrunched up in pleasure. Your walls are fluttering around him, sucking his fingers in and still wanting more. Iwaizumi dips to lick over a nipple, blows cool air on it and watches the way the flesh pebbles under his attention. He repeats the same action with the other, brushing your clit with his thumb as he does, and the noise you make is so wanton and broken, he can’t hold back anymore. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pulling his hand back, Iwaizumi looks at you with hooded eyes, a question on the tip of his tongue, but you already have an answer for him, “Drawer to your right,” and when he quirks an eyebrow, you huff at him, “When have I ever not been prepared for <i>everything</i>, Haji?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re right, you’re right,” he chuckles. <i>That’s my girl</i>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In school, you were someone everyone could go to for <i>anything</i>, something between a mom-friend and damn doomsday-prepper. You didn’t carry a purse but a small backpack, had pens and paper and gum as well as tampons, band-aids, ibuprofen, a handheld game console, two different phone chargers, and, at one point, a can of soup. Iwaizumi spent about a year convinced you had somehow managed one of those Harry Potter charms on the bag to make it larger, but you insisted you were <i>just that good</i>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shaking the extra nostalgia from his brain, Iwaizumi reaches into the drawer and procures a condom. Part of him wants to ask just who else you were planning to bring here, but it really doesn’t concern him. He’s just glad that tonight it’s him. There’s lube tucked into a corner too, but you’re already dripping onto the blanket beneath you, so Iwaizumi doesn’t bother with it, just rips open the foil and begins to roll the latex onto his aching cock. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Your smaller hand covers his, pausing Iwaizumi’s motions, and you sit up, pump him a few times before the barrier is in place. He lets his head loll forward, groaning at the feeling of your skin against his. He gives a few soft thrusts, feels pre leak out of his tip, and God, there was a time when you would catch it on your finger and lick it off. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay, okay,” he takes over again, putting the condom on the rest of the way. “I’m re—"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You move, get onto your knees and shove him backward so that he lands with his head close to the foot of the bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, same,” you breathe, straddling Iwaizumi’s hips and lining him up with your entrance. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sounds you both make are a mixture of a few different things: strain, surprise, pleasure, relief. His cocks slides inside of you like it belongs there, fitting perfectly, warm and wet and tight, and you brace your elbows on either side of his face, rest your forehead against his as you pant and adjust to his size. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“God, fuck, babe, you feel,” Iwaizumi bucks into you shallowly, unable to help himself. “So fucking good.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You squeeze him like it’ll make him stay still, but it has the opposite effect as he grips your hips and begins moving with more intent. Iwaizumi catches your mouth in a scalding, sloppy kiss, the rumble in his chest never ceasing as you mewl and undulate on top of him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once you regain some composure, you straighten up, begin riding him like it’s second nature. Your hips grind together, skin slapping skin, and it’s so fantastic and mind-numbing and <i>you</i>, it makes Iwaizumi’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he fucks into you from below. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s already sweating, already has that lava-hot sensation forming deep in the core of his body which is <i>ridiculous</i>. He can prolong it if he has to, but being here with you, wrapped around one another, is overwhelming, only adding to this absolute <i>need</i>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Your hips snap back and forth, and you throw your head back, baring your throat, and Iwaizumi immediately takes advantage, sitting up with hands roaming your back as he attaches his mouth to your neck. He sucks one bruise after another, muttering nonsense words and praises as you use him as a toy, very precise in the way you gyrate to ensure maximum stimulation. Your thighs are quivering, your chest heaving and making your tits very hard to ignore, so Iwaizumi gropes them again, pinching your nipples so that you whine, your muscles tightening around his cock. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He grunts, shoves you back and pulls out for a moment until he gets you on hands and knees. You <i>sing</i> when Iwaizumi slides in from behind. Doggy was always your favorite as you’re able to take him deep and play with your clit at the same time. It seems that hasn’t changed as you wet two fingers in your mouth and bring your hand between your legs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You swear and shake, rock backward to meet every one of Iwaizumi’s thrusts. The rhythm is faster, harsher, and that feeling of impending explosion looms nearer. He fists a hand in your hair, tugs your head backward so that you moan and smile in that blissed out way of yours. Fuck, he forgot how hot that was. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It doesn’t take much after that. Iwaizumi is able to hold it together just long enough for you to start seizing around him, high pitched, <i>“Oh, fuck, fuck, I’m com—I’m coming,”</i> before your pussy contracts, milking Iwaizumi’s own orgasm from him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He rides it out for the both of you, thrusts growing a little weaker until there’s nothing left, cock spent, legs weak, and heart pounding. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>You let out a pitiful noise when he pulls out, fingers holding the condom in place as he does. He takes it off, ties the latex, then gets to his feet shakily and finds the nearest trash bin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh my god,” you breathe, now belly down on the mattress, your head turned to the side. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Iwaizumi chuckles, flops back down beside you, and nods into the blankets. “Yeah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That was…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I needed that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shows a content little smile, meets your drowsy eyes with his own. “Same.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You poke your tongue between your teeth as you grin, then push yourself up and roll off the bed to go to the bathroom and clean up. Iwaizumi won’t be far behind you. He has half a mind to ask to stay in your room for the night just so that he doesn’t have to listen to Oikawa’s snoring, but he doesn’t want to impose or assume—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You wanna stay here for the night?” You call out as you step out of the en-suite. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Iwaizumi snorts loudly. Right. Of course you’d have the same idea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, actually, if you don’t mind.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You crawl under the covers then pull them back in invitation, one Iwaizumi fully intends on accepting once he’s done freshening up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s nothing serious, he knows. He doesn’t even really want it to be. But, it’s familiar and comforting and so nice, the feeling of being close to you, the weight of your hand on his chest and your head pillowed on his bicep. You throw a leg between his and sigh happily when he breathes into your hair, the scent of mint and citrus still the same. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once the lights are off, the two of you catch up just a little more, voices low and slurring with fatigue. You fall asleep to the feeling of Iwaizumi’s pulse against your palm, and he eventually drifts off to the sound of your breathing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stirs once in the middle of the night, half-asleep and convinced he’s back in college with his first girlfriend, his first love. When morning comes, and Iwaizumi awakens fully, he’s pleased to find that he isn’t in school anymore but that you are indeed there, still curled against him like you never left.</p>
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